The Ballad of Tiffany Valentine

by smngry

Taking place between 1988 and 1999, this story covers various periods of Tiffany's ten year separation from Chucky. Old characters return as our murderous maiden finds out the astonishing truth about the man she loves. What follows is a decade long, blood soaked tale of love, murder revenge and revelations.

27. Chapter 4-6

Chapter 4.6

November 19th 1996

This wasn't right.

The darkness, an ocean of infinite nothingness, swallowing her whole. Her consciousness clamouring at invisible walls as she tried to escape the engulfing void before her. Other senses beginning to awaken, one by one as she lay still, the constant drip of water gradually increasing in volume as Sarah began to stir. Awakening slowly, her head lay heavy, a tiny ripple of pain slowly spreading from the epicentre of her brain as she gradually opened her eyes. At first she felt a wave of relief. A shiver of gratitude as she found the feeling returning to her arms and legs, the pins and needles beginning tickle, yet at the same time bringing over a wave of nausea, Sarah now feeling the hard surface beneath her back as she smiled and tried to recount the moments leading up to her nap. Wherever she was, it wasn't bed. Her mattress was much softer than this, which led Sarah to think of an alternative, her mind still rousing from the recent slumber. Had she fallen asleep on the couch? No. She was pretty sure the couch was a lot more comfortable than this too, now beginning to feel a cold sensation spreading across her back, wet to the touch and soaking through her blouse without mercy. Confused, and starting to feel a sense of unease, Sarah opened her eyes and blinked, the environment surrounding her dark and strange. Where was she? This place, it seemed familiar, but she could not for the love of god begin to put a name to it. Beginning to move, attempting to turn over, Sarah struggled, trying again as her arms refused to move. Legs too as Sarah lifted her head as best she could. Panic setting in, unable to move and in unfamiliar surroundings, she struggled on, no use as her eyes slowly adjusted to the small amount of light filtering in from a window behind her current, horizontal position. High above the place where she lay as Sarah managed to make out the thin, yet tightly bound rope wrapped a multitude of times around her wrists and ankles. Her heart began to pound as she struggled frantically once more, grunting as she did so, fear rising before releasing a loud and ear splitting cry for help.

"HELP!"

She bellowed into the emptiness of the room, no answer forthcoming.

"SOMEBODY!?"

Nothing.

"Please..." She wept, the only reply coming from a rat, startled by the sudden outburst and scurrying across the wooden floor with a terrified screech of its own. The room was filthy, that much was clear. Run down and in desperate need of structural work, the corner of the room soaking as rain water poured in relentlessly, not so much a drop, but more of a constant flow as it attacked the now decaying plaster clinging valiantly to the wall, the brickwork beneath sitting exposed following what must have been years of neglect. The rest of the room was a mess too. Cobwebs and debris littered every square inch, what looked very much like masks, papier mache and rotten wood, Sarah now guessing the location to be derelict. Abandoned and forgotten, nature now allowed to take its toll. Mould growing in every corner, cardboard littering the floor, faeces of a wide variety of rodents too as weeds also began to poke in through the gaps in the bare brick wall and uneven floorboards, Sarah now correctly guessed herself to be in a basement of some description. She was just about to take another deep breath, unleash yet another bloodcurdling scream in the hope of alerting anybody and everybody she could, when she stopped dead, the sound of a door opening somewhere up ahead, indeed the influx of light burning brightly as it spread rapidly across the twisted, filthy floor and stretched on towards Sarah. Holding her breath in anticipation, Sarah watched on, speechless as a silhouette appeared stood in the door frame, the shadow streaking across the warped, wooden floor, sharp and intimidating. Then, stepping forward, the sound of footsteps echoing across the silence of the rotting room, a pair of heels tapped slowly along as the faint outline of a woman now came to a sudden standstill. Unable to make out anything other than the shape of the woman's figure, the glow of light from the door behind not illuminating her captor as much as Sarah would have liked, she lay in complete silence and tried to regain as much composure as possible, watching silently as the woman slowly lifted her hands and cupped them around her mouth, casually striking a match and lighting the cigarette clamped between her lips, illuminating her face as she did so with a satisfied smile. Extinguishing the match with a gentle flick of the wrist and exhaling the first lungful of smoke into the damp, stagnant air, the woman finally spoke. Not much, but enough to turn the blood running through Sarah's veins to ice as her voice calmly floated through the air and landed with a punch, knocking the wind from Sarah's lungs.

"Hello Sarah." She gently said, the smile twisting across her lips. "I'm Tiffany."

Racing through the streets, the sirens of the two patrol cars blared loudly. Pedestrians offering a quick glance before doing a double take, the huge, heavily armoured SWAT truck rumbling on behind as its escort cut a path through the afternoon traffic of Chicago. Up ahead cars, buses and bikes all parted to either side of the exceptionally wide street, allowing the convoy to make its way through, the surrounding buildings soaked in the intermittent flash of neon blue light, the sirens suddenly coming to a halt, the signal to the team within the understated white and blue SWAT truck that their destination lay not too far ahead. Beneath the plates of armour, safely hidden within the body of the truck and noticing the disappearing siren, the generous frame of Captain Reginald Senior turned and ran his eyes over the assembled team before him. Still gearing up, five either side of the vehicles hull, assault rifles, handguns, a multitude of counter terrorism devices lining the walls, they all turned and acknowledged their superior, the huge man before them now pointing to a white board pinned to the steel structure behind him, arrows and symbols dotted left, right and centre, Tiffany Valentine's mug shot tacked beside as he called to the men as one.

"Alright men, listen up." Senior barked running his hand over the board, the quickly scribbled floor plan of Gorman's Bar there for all to observe. "What we have here is a high risk warrant. You all got that? Now we all know the drill. I want this smooth, I want it clean, and if we can, I want to take this bitch alive!"

"What do we know sir?" A random voice called out from the ten man team, all eyes still trained on Senior, some poking from beneath the Kevlar helmets, others from behind the thick police issue goggles.

"Not a lot, it has to be said." Senior replied with a sigh, palms outstretched. "This has been very quickly thrown together. We have a window of opportunity and we need to act fast."

A sigh here. A shake of the head there.

"I know what you're all thinking, but what we do know is that our target is now officially a cop killer." Senior continued slamming his hand into Tiffany's photo. "Now mark my words, this should be nothing more than a simple in-and-out job. But, and I stress this, I don't want anybody acting the hero. We go in, incapacitate, and then extract. No unnecessary gunfire, and for that reason alone I'm on point. Everybody understand that?"

A nod of heads from all around the truck. Senior was the point man, meaning he would lead the team. First contact most likely to be made by him and him alone. From the calmness, a lone voice, Senior unable to place it, spoke up.

"Is that wise sir?" He asked.

"Listen up son." Senior snapped, craning his neck in the direction of the voice. "I was doing my SWAT drills while you were in kindergarten. Don't let the desk job fool you. It's like riding a bike."

A silence befell the men as Senior awaited a further response. None forthcoming, he decided to press on, turning to the white board and the floor plan of the bar.

"As we can see." He began, his thick index finger extended as he traced a path along the plans. "We have an exit out back leading into a small yard area. Fortunately for us, this bottlenecks at the alley leading to the street out back. We'll have a sniper positioned above the alley, ready for if our suspect attempts an escape. Out front however, it's a different story. We have the main entrance which exits straight into the parking lot, which in turn allows a swifter, more efficient exit into the street. For that reason, we'll have two snipers positioned across the road, both with a full view of the immediate area. Their orders are different to ours. They get chance, they shoot to kill."

"What about us sir?" A team member asked, raising his hand. "We've covered the exterior, but what about inside? Any surprises?"

"We won't know until we're in." Senior answered. "But I'm positive that if we take it steady, stick to the routine, then we'll be fine."

Turning to the board again, Senior pointed, a thick, weathered finger drumming on the front entrance.

"We go in as usual." He said, his voice lucid, almost dream like. "Eleven men, single file, snake formation. As we can see, we have steps leading up to a balcony housing rooms above the bar. Front five men, myself included, will cover the bar area while the six to the rear split off and head upstairs. We hold the bar while you check the rooms above. Once we get the all clear, then the five on the ground floor reform and we head down to the basement. If she isn't upstairs, then we face the very strong possibility that she's downstairs. Now as far as I'm aware, this motherfucker doesn't have the slightest clue we're onto her. She'll be unprepared. Which means she may panic. Maybe reach for a weapon. Unlike our sniper friends outside though, the orders are not to take her out unless absolutely necessary. I want that to be a last resort okay? But, if it has to be done, then so be it. Remember, our safety is paramount."

Giving his team a final look over, Senior brought his hands crashing together, the panels of his SWAT armour shaking visibly as he did so.

"Do we have any questions?"

Yet again, a silence lingered in the air. Not disrespectful, but calm and concentrated. The mission ahead was, as previously mentioned, a fairly simple one. But nevertheless, the men cleared their heads and entered the zone, each one focusing on their role within the team and what may lay ahead.

"Then in that case gentlemen." Senior barked with a smile. "Let's suit up."

It had been too long. He was looking forward to this.

Whether she knew it or not, Tiffany Valentine was going down.

Slowly and silently, the SWAT truck rolled across the intersection and proceeded to make its way down the street, two uniformed officers hurriedly racing across the street and erecting a barrier in its wake as they cordoned off the route and returned to their duties, manning the barricade. The patrol cars ahead had already pulled up by the sidewalk, the truck rumbling past and emerging from the shadows of the run down apartments flanking the parking lot of Gorman's Bar. Once across the entrance to the parking lot, the truck rolled to a stop, out of sight as it passed beyond the corner of the next building, also running the length of the lot, the engine dying instantly as quietly and efficiently the double doors to the rear of the truck sprang open and the team began to pile out one by one. Sub-machine guns raised, armour clinging to every limb. First in line, Captain Senior reached the corner of the building and lifted a lone palm, not a word spoken as the following men acknowledged the back of his hand and filed up along the dirty, red brick wall behind him. Slowly turning the corner, gun sweeping from right to left, Senior entered the barren parking lot and began to make his way across the gravel, the team falling in behind him, snipers positioned high above monitoring their every step, all good as they reached the entrance to the bar and split into two teams, the ten men following on behind now evenly distributed either side of the battered, open doorway, the raid from days previous still evident. Silently, the men held their positions, Senior signaling as one of the team stepped forward and retrieved a mirror from his pocket, hanging from the end of an extendable arm, dropping to their knees and allowing it to hover around the corner of the door. An old and tested trick, the mirror slowly angled back and forth as the SWAT member used it to his advantage, checking out the interior of the building and finding no evidence of life. Retrieving the mirror and folding it back into one of his many pockets, the SWAT member gave a swift thumbs up and fell back, Senior taking the lead again as he counted down with the fingers of his spare hand. Reaching 'one', Senior darted round the corner, each of the team following in and creating a snake behind their superior. A single file line, just as described in the briefing, as they quietly entered the bar and once again trained their sub-machine guns upon all four corners and the gantry above the bar. Quickly making their way through the bar area and approaching the stairs, the front five men stopped and dropped to their knees once more, guns still raised as they surveyed the floor area for any sign of danger, the six men to the rear splitting from the line and beginning to make their way up the stairs. Reaching the gantry, the six men quickly and quietly began to make their way along the row of doors, slowly twisting the handles and allowing the doors to open, another SWAT member then proceeding to enter with caution, dropping to their knees again and sweeping their firearm from corner to corner. Five minutes later and the silent signal came from above, a thumbs up indicating the first floor to be clear, the five man team on the ground floor now standing as one, guns still sweeping the bar, ever vigilant as they made their way to the staircase, the basement next to be inspected as they waited for Captain Senior to quietly round the banister and began his descent. The four men now realigning and snaking behind him, they silently proceeded to follow on, descending into the darkness. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Senior quietly lifted his left hand, sub-machine gun trained on the lone door before him, extending a finger and indicating twice left, twice right, the four men behind suddenly splitting two to either side of the Captain and approaching the closed door before them. Dropping to their knees again, one of the men gingerly reached forward and gripped the handle of the door, awaiting the signal from Senior who lowered his weapon slightly and gave a slight nod, signal received. Slowly levering downwards, the SWAT member suddenly felt the handle ripped from his grasp, Senior instantly lifting his weapon as the door flew open and a lone figure appeared at the far end of the basement. Reacting quickly, Senior squeezed the trigger of his gun and felt time slow as his finger reached the point of no return. All noise disappeared, senses became heightened, Senior suddenly realising the trap that had been sprung as the corpse of Selena Thomas dropped from the beams of the basement ceiling, the smell of gas coming too late as the muzzle of Senior's sub-machine gun erupted with fire, the bullet ejected, the spark wasting no time at all as Senior closed his eyes and felt the air ripped violently from his lungs. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling across the neighbourhood. A pulse almost enough to shake the entire block. The snipers stationed around the building lifted their heads as they examined the perimeter, turning from the heat, the windows across all three stories of Gorman's Bar suddenly exploding and showering the immediate area in shards of glass as the flames erupted from within, devouring all the oxygen in their way before retreating, sucked back into the red brick building as if by magic. Unable to withstand the impact of the blast, the walls began to buckle. Decades old mortar crumbling as the weight of the roof simply became too much to bear, the building now folding in on itself in a cloud of dust, screams from within as the officers on the street stood and watched on in shock and abject horror.

God help all inside.

Rain slamming into the windscreen, Officer Harold Wan cruised the streets of Chicago. The day far from over as he listened to the constant squeal of the police band, the static exploding through the patrol car every few seconds. The way this week had spiraled out of control was nothing short of remarkable. A grip of terror tightening as the police unexpectedly came up against a seemingly unstoppable force. Four innocent women now lay dead. Bodies on a slab in their respective morgues. Two officers had since joined them. Gloria Esposito and Patrick McCain brutally slain in the line of duty. Two of Harold's closest friends in fact. Truth be told, the shock had yet to sink in, Harold rejecting offers to take some time off and choosing to instead throw himself even further into his work and carry on regardless. Not for the acclaim, not because it was his duty but because he owed it to them. He was close, and he could feel it. Now, as he drifted through the traffic, wipers working frantically, scraping across the windshield as they fought to clear away the downpour, Wan found the radio blaring into life, the screaming almost inaudible as his eyes flitted from the road to the controls, turning the volume down and listening in to the conversation now taking place. He could tell this was an emergency, but what exactly had taken place was still to be discovered.

"Control!" The voice gasped, panicked and desperate. "Come in control, this is car seventy-six!"

"Control here seventy-six." The response followed instantly. Calmly. "What's your situation?"

"We need medics!" The officer coughed, his breath short, the noise in the background slowly beginning to dwindle. "Medics, fire crew... Jesus we need everything!"

"Please advise of status seventy-six." Control answered, a voice of calm among what was rapidly becoming a sea of despair.

"The building." The officer paused and coughed again, his voice trembling. "The whole fucking building came down. Right on top of them. Gorman's Bar. South Dearborn and West Jackson. Send whatever you can spare."

"Re-routing all emergency personnel within the area to your location car seventy-six." Control replied, the female voice not faltering one bit as she responded as best she could. "Please advise, how many casualties on site?"

"Not a damn clue." The officer said, recounting as best he could. "Eleven of our guys went in I think. Then that was it. Fire, then bang, the whole fucking building. Gone just like that. Nobody came out."

"Standby for support seventy-six." Control said. "ETA two minutes."

"Maybe get the gas board down here control." The officer said, his chest wheezing, his voice croaky.

"Already done seventy-six." Control replied one final time. "Sit tight."

With that final transmission, the radio returned to the normal, monotonous and incredibly mundane reports of failed bank robberies, muggings and burglaries as Officer Wan allowed the past sixty seconds to sink in and make sense. Approaching the intersection ahead, he looked on through the rain and watched the lights switch from green to red, mind working overtime. Gorman's Bar. Last known abode of one Tiffany Hendricks. Or as Wan now knew her to be called, Tiffany Valentine. Whatever Captain Senior had done, it would appear it had backfired spectacularly, the scene described over the radio one of tragedy and suffering. Dazed and shaken by the events now playing out at Gorman's Bar, Wan began to apply the brakes of the patrol car, the wheels steadily decreasing, water kicked from the surface of the road as the car eventually came to a stop in a puddle stretching from one side of the intersection to the other. He had barely started to try and piece together the incident across town, Captain Senior possibly laying dead beneath tonnes of debris, when another call came in from across town. A completely different part of the city as the call squealed through the car.

"Control, this is car thirty-one." A voice sighed across the airwaves.

"Control here." A different voice this time. "Go ahead thirty-one."

"Roger Control. We're just returning to South Blackstone after that hoax Pirce call." The officer said. "But it looks as though our Sarah Pirce has gone walkabout."

Wan's spine stiffened as he listened in.

Surely not.

"Please repeat car thirty-one." Control asked.

"She's gone." The officer replied, seemingly confused. "Nowhere to be seen. Sarah Pirce has disappeared."

Sitting in stunned silence, the lights before him now changing from red to green, Harold Wan simply sat in a daze as the car behind gave a blast of its horn. A request to move on and quit holding up the building queue of traffic. It was this exact moment, as Harold hypnotically slipped the car into gear, that the pieces magically seemed to suddenly fit together. The jigsaw amazingly piecing itself together as Harold flicked on his siren and watched the miserable afternoon rain suddenly light up in a magnificent blue, tyres screeching as he jammed the throttle of the patrol car to the floor and felt the wheels spin on the drenched tarmac beneath, the gas pumped to the engine as the beast roared within. Sarah Pirce, 'the' Sarah Pirce, was now missing.

And he had a damn good idea where to find her.

Eyes straining against the light, pupils dilating instantly, Sarah found herself lost for words. Her long blonde hair now soaking as the rain picked up outside. The beams in the basement ceiling now allowing a fast, constant drip as the rainwater forced it's way through the gaps and cracks and into the rotting timbers overhead, the strange woman before her now taking a step forward and lifting a clump of Sarah's sodden hair, the lockes matted together as she then quietly released them and turned away, striding a few steps before turning and finally speaking again.

"I thought you'd be more attractive." She sighed as she approached a decrepit old stool, wiping it clean with her spare hand, the sleeve of her leather jacket pulled over the open palm as dirt and moss fell from the leather covering of the seat. Cigarette gripped between her fingers, the woman then sat ever so slowly, eyes never leaving Sarah as she lifted the cigarette and drew another lungful of smoke, the tip a furious bright red as the paper burned slowly towards the filter. Sarah was still getting her bearings, about to question that last statement, when Tiffany spoke again.

"Familiar?" She asked, eyes sweeping across the basement in a questioning fashion as she exhaled yet another plume of smoke. Sarah, lost for words, could do little more than offer a quick shake of her head, not entirely honest as she found some familiarity within the aging basement. She had been here before. But when? More importantly, why?

"They burned it down years ago you know."

"They?" Sarah quietly asked, not too sure whether she was shivering from the cold, or trembling with fear.

"You know what I mean." Tiffany replied with a smile. "Some sort of revenge by the locals. Either that or an insurance job by the landlord. After all, there doesn't seem to be much demand for property owned by deceased, infamous serial killers these days."

A freezing sensation swept over Sarah's still body as the words hit home, her mind almost exploding as she put two and two together. Feeling her heart pound in her chest she cast her eyes around the room once again. The fireplace, the half eaten, rotting masks, the couch she now found herself secured to. She knew where she was alright, instantly beginning to struggle against the ropes around her wrists and ankles, the fear bringing tears to her eyes as she cast her mind back eight long years and to that fateful night. Even now, she could still see him. As he was. Flowers clutched in hand as he seemed to fret over whether or not he'd picked the right ones, the calm, caring demeanour giving way to the wicked, unpredictable and violent psychopath buried within just moments later as the police showed up and Sarah's life changed forever. Yes. She could see him. His shoulder length mop of unruly dark hair. The thick, brown overcoat. His voice laced with a malevolence. Yes, it had been a long time. Time spent trying to forget. But she could still see, smell and hear Charles Lee Ray in all his twisted glory.

"No…" She whispered through the tears, her face contorted in fear and desperation as she turned her attention on Tiffany. "No! Why? Who are you?!"

Suddenly the stool shot out from beneath Tiffany, across the basement floor and into the shadows as she stood and lifted her arm, the gun gripped tightly and aimed in Sarah's immediate direction, a venomous tone to her words as she bellowed across the room in fury.

"WHO AM I?" Tiffany screamed, infuriated. "I should be the one asking that question you fucking slut! After all, I'm not the 'other woman' now am I?"

"What?" Sarah asked, astounded at the very words, disbelief flowing through her words.

"Did it make you feel good?" Tiffany spat, gun still aimed, finger gently wrapped around the trigger as she proceeded to approach the helpless woman before her. "The attention I mean. Was it good? Did it make you feel wanted? Trying to steal another girls man."

Taking a deep breath and composing herself, Sarah blinked back the tears and tried to block out the cold, the terror not relenting for one second as she tried her best to calm the typhoon of frustration now standing before her.

"If you're talking about Charles Lee Ray, then let me assure you that is NOT what happened!"

"Yeah right." Tiffany laughed, lowering the gun slightly as she stepped back a touch, Sarah grabbing the chance and attempting to explain herself in more depth.

"Believe me." Sarah said. "If those feelings of his were in any way mutual, do you really think he'd have resorted to what he did? Kidnap? Bringing me here and tying me up like he did? Like you have? Please think about it."

Quick as a flash the gun found itself pointed in Sarah's direction once again, Tiffany snarling as a tear fell from her cheek and dropped to the floor, forever lost among the puddles now forming at her feet.

"So you're saying it was all him?" She asked angrily, teeth gritted as she spat the words out. "It was all Chucky's doing?"

Battling back the tears herself, Sarah remained silent, affording only a nod in reply to Tiffany's question.

"Bullshit!" Tiffany grunted, lifting the gun to her left and pointing to the side of the basement, unleashing a bullet into the plaster as a puff of dust flew into the air, the explosion reverberating around the old, decaying room. Before Sarah could scream, before she could think, the gun was back on her, Tiffany approaching at pace and quickly coming to a stop beside the couch, the barrel of the handgun no more than a few inches from her forehead as Tiffany carried on.

"You must have led him on!" She said, tears in her eyes, voice breaking, clinging to the belief. "You must have done something!"

"No." Sarah wept, shaking her head violently. "The opposite in fact. I assure you."

Stepping back and lowering the gun, Tiffany appeared to calm a little as she tried to catch her breath, the rain falling all around her as a clap of thunder roared overhead and a flash of lightning lit up the room, shadows thrown up and gracing the walls in every conceivable direction.

"How do you mean?" She asked.

"Believe me, I went to great lengths to avoid him." Sarah continued, a nervous ripple of laughter escaping as she pushed on through the tears. "Ever since the first time we met. I knew there was something about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. After that day, the picnic where we met, he became obsessive. Ever present. Everywhere I went he was there. Every social function. Every time I went to the store. My husband, Daniel, thought it was all in my head too. Little did he know how determined Charles was."

"Don't call him Charles." Tiffany whispered, listening intently as she lifted the gun and wiped another tear from her cheek, the metal warm on her skin. "He wouldn't like that."

"My husband died, you see." Sarah sniffed, fighting back the tears, taking a calming breath as she fought on to tell her story. "They ruled it as an accident. But I knew. He was such a strong swimmer. But they found him in the lake, two days after he went missing. Then I heard the last person to see him alive was Charles, and that's when I knew."

"That's news to me." Tiffany interjected, wiping another tear from her cheek, the back of the sleeve of her leather jacket now being used to some effect.

"I cut off all contact after that." Sarah pushed on. "I even went to the police. Told them how I thought he had something to do with Daniel's death. How he was harassing me. In the end he was given a restraining order and I thought that would be the end of it."

"Do go on." Tiffany gestured halfheartedly, waving the gun.

"I think that's what caused him to snap. A week later I dropped Barb, my eldest girl, at school and that's when he grabbed me. He kept me here for three days and three nights. Heavily pregnant at the time too. I tried to tell him how wrong it was, but he wouldn't listen. Just said that 'they' wouldn't keep us apart, but I begged him, told him he was wrong. Eventually I managed to get free and phone the police."

"Why?" Tiffany interrupted. "If you got free then why not just make a run for it?"

"I had no idea where I was." Sarah snapped at her, instantly regretting it and continuing in a more pleasant manner. "The phone was in the apartment upstairs. When I went up there, the things I saw… I was scared. Not about what he would do to me, but Barb too. Because he would have found me. Straight away."

"So if you had no idea where you were, then how did the police show up?" Tiffany asked, a certain irritation to her question, as though trying to expose a flaw or lie.

"They traced the call." Sarah answered. "When they came I didn't know what to expect. He was insisting on picking Barb up from school. I delayed him, that was when they arrived. He either saw the lights or heard the siren, then went to the window and flew into a rage. He took a knife..."

The memories taking their toll, Sarah's emotions racing, she struggled to carry on, sobbing as she took a second. She needed more, trying her hardest and suddenly finding the words exploding from somewhere deep inside. A well of strength and courage she had no idea existed.

"...and he stabbed me! Eight months pregnant and that son of a bitch didn't so much as take a second glance as he tried to kill my baby."

Curiosity getting the better of her, Tiffany gingerly stepped forward and lowered her arm, placing the barrel of her gun beneath the bottom of Sarah's wet blouse and lifting the flimsy, saturated material ever so slowly to reveal the scar beneath. Inch by inch, Tiffany looking on In a twisted fascination as she realised Sarah's honesty.

"Well what do you know?" Tiffany said, lowering the blouse and looking Sarah in the eye. "Seems you're telling the truth."

"Of course I'm telling you the truth!" Sarah replied, her tone rife with anger. "I went through hell because of that bastard."

"Well that sounds like my Chucky." Tiffany sighed, the words rolling from her tongue. "Always one to let his heart rule his head."

"Do you have no compassion?" Sarah asked, stunned. "No humanity?"

"My heart bleeds." Tiffany replied as she stood and rolled her eyes, the story beginning to bore her as she noticed the daggers emanating from Sarah's eyes. "Seriously."

"My baby was born practically healthy." Sarah said, her voice tailing off as she became quieter by the word.

"Practically?" Tiffany asked. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Because of your dear 'Chucky', my baby girl was born a paraplegic." Sarah spat through gritted teeth. "Happy with that?"

Silence from the Valentine corner, quickly broken as Tiffany cleared her throat and sought to continue the interrogation.

"So what happened next?" She asked.

"It was all a blur to be honest." Sarah said, tilting her head to the side and staring into space, focusing on the crumbling brickwork of the basement. "Next thing I remember seeing were the news reports the following day. That Charles had been killed during a police chase. That he was actually the Lakeshore Strangler too. I thought that would be the end of it, but then days later I saw some other reports and found out about the little boy across town. Claiming that his doll was possessed by the spirit of Charles Lee Ray no less."

"You believed it?" Tiffany asked, shocked.

"I wouldn't normally." Sarah answered, her eyes dropping to the half rotten masks and carvings on the basement floor, mind flashing with memories. "I will admit I was pretty skeptical. But I remembered what I'd seen in the apartment upstairs. I'd seen the things he was into."

"So what next?" Tiffany asked her.

"There was something about it that wouldn't let up." Sarah continued. "Naturally they were laughed out of court. The boy was put into care and the mother sent to the crazy house I think. The doll was given back to the toy company. Although I seem to remember something about that too. A police officer took some of the evidence from the case and wound up dead that same day."

"That rings a bell." Tiffany sighed, her time to reminisce as her memory flashed back to Chicago Police officer Harry Marsh and the exchange that never was.

"But before all the legal cases, straight after the claims were made I made a decision. To put my mind at ease, reassure myself, I decided to look into the whole thing." Sarah continued. "Like I said, I was skeptical, but after everything I'd seen, down here, upstairs, then everything I'd heard, I just couldn't put it out of my mind. That was why I looked for help straight after that boy made those claims."

"Hang on." Tiffany began laughing, the gun now dangling from her finger as she sat back down on the stool. "Let me guess. You hired a private investigator?"

A nod from Sarah as she continued.

"The investigation concluded the whole thing was nothing more than a fairytale." Sarah explained. "Make believe and a child's over-active imagination. Probably a way to block out the domestic issues. It was almost all wrapped up, but then it happened again. That same boy, claiming to have killed the doll for a second time and left it to rot in some factory across town. So we kept digging, and digging... Eventually my investigator concluded it was all bullshit and we went our separate ways."

"You're wrong." Tiffany shook her head and remembered the conversation that took place in the office of Mrs Appleby's store some years previous, an answer to the burning question at last. "Jack Fuller discovered way more than he let on."

"You know Jack Fuller?" Sarah gasped in disbelief.

"Let's just say our paths crossed, ever so briefly, a couple of years back." Tiffany answered. "In fact come to mention it, I'd been convinced he was hired by Karen Barclay all this time. See, she denied it when I asked, but I still thought…"

"I'm sorry, who?" Sarah asked, confused.

"The mother of the child." Tiffany tried to explain. "You know… With the doll? Keep up Sarah."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Tiffany sighed. "So it looks like good old Jack wasn't as straight with you as he claimed."

"In what way?" Sarah asked.

"Well he admitted to me how he blatantly lied to you." Tiffany said, standing from her stool and slowly striding across the uneven floor towards Sarah. "How he'd become somewhat obsessed with this whole thing himself. Especially after what he discovered in the factory."

Remaining speechless, Sarah narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow, inviting Tiffany to continue, to which she obliged, Sarah's mind exploding in fear as the words menacingly fell from her captor's lips.

"You see, let me assure you Sarah, this whole thing is very fucking real." Tiffany giggled mischievously. The pleasure more than evident. "So real it almost frightens me."

"In what way?" Sarah asked, a little disturbed as Tiffany dropped to her knees beside the couch, smiling a malevolent grin as she gently ran her fingers through Sarah's damp hair.

"I've seen it." Tiffany whispered in her ear, Sarah's heartbeat stopping dead.

"Seen what?" Sarah asked, afraid of the reply.

"The corpse. In the factory." Tiffany answered. "The doll."

"I don't believe you." Sarah gasped in disbelief. "Jack said it was impossible…"

"Jack said, ya-da-ya-da-ya-da." Tiffany laughed. "It's easy enough to get in. If you do your research. Of course, I've not the first idea how exactly I'd be able to 'bring him back' so to speak. But I'm sure I'll get there in the end."

"No." Sarah asked, terror causing her spine to stiffen.

"Oh yes." Tiffany giggled. "But that's not important right now. What is important, is that I finally have chance to put this right. Do this one thing."

Before Sarah could say a word the gun was lifted from beneath the couch and pressed into Sarah's temple. The cold steel of the gun sent a ripple of fear washing over Sarah's body as she closed her eyes and began to weep, Tiffany's finger slowly pulling back on the trigger of the gun..

"Please." She sobbed, emotions racing. "I'm sorry. Alright?"

"What did her ever see in you?" Tiffany asked, disgusted too polite a word. "So weak and afraid. You're nothing."

"I said I'm sorry." Sarah said again, arcing her back and crying in frustration.

"Not good enough." Tiffany replied, her voice lacking any emotion whatsoever as she continued to tighten her grip on the trigger.

"Please, no." Sarah carried on. "I just wanted to be safe. To keep my children safe. My babies. I never thought he would die!"

Suddenly, the cold feeling disappeared from Sarah's head, her eyes opening and finding Tiffany had now stood and retracted the gun.

"Do you know something?" Tiffany said. "I never thought of it like that."

"Like what?" Sarah said between short, rapid breaths.

"I mean, I lost my Chucky. My man. My soulmate." Tiffany began to reason. "But Chucky lost so much more than that. He lost his life. His future. He lost everything because of you."

"I'm so sorry." Sarah pleaded.

"Don't you understand?" Tiffany laughed. "If I know Chucky, and believe me I know my Chucky, then the very first thing he'll want to do when he returns, is deal with you himself."

"What?" Sarah asked, astounded.

"When I bring him back. Because believe you me Sarah I am not the type to give up too easily, he will probably want to deal with you and those fucking kids of yours all on his own."

"Are you serious?" Sarah asked, half terrified, half stunned with disbelief.

"Maybe I am." Tiffany replied with a smile. "I mean this started off as a bit of a jealousy thing for me. You know? But I think it would be even more of a curse for you to deal with if you spent every day for the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. Don't you think?"

"But what about those innocent girls?" Sarah asked.

"What girls?" Tiffany said.

"The ones you've killed getting to me." Sarah seemed shocked, shaking her head as she spoke. "Did they die for nothing? Are you honestly telling me this was all over some jealous fit? Your anger. Your ill informed ideas about me stealing Charles?"

"Well," Tiffany started. "Believe it or not, it did start out that way. But It's like my mother used to say. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Although that's probably not the case here. Because Chucky gets pretty angry. Which is why I really think I'm better leaving this for him to take care of. When I bring him back. Which I will. Eventually."

"You're crazy!" Sarah spat, unable to comprehend the seriousness of Tiffany's thinly veiled threat.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I know one thing. You'll be living on the edge from here on out." Tiffany's voice twisted, the calm, easygoing tone disappearing as she fixed Sarah a deathly stare and leaned in, the two women inches from one another. "Because you'll never be safe. Wherever you go, even if you leave Chicago. And you'll always have one eye over your shoulder, you and your kids. And when the time comes, I'll be there to help him."

"Why?" Sarah asked through her tears.

"Because, like you already pointed out." Tiffany's lips curled into a menacing snarl. "This is all your fault. If it weren't for you he wouldn't have been chased, he wouldn't have been shot, he wouldn't be dead and he wouldn't be some half dead plastic freak that I've had to carry on without."

"I didn't mean for it…" Sarah began, Tiffany pressing the barrel of the gun into the side of Sarah's head once again as she leaned in and interrupted.

"I don't five a fuck what you meant. In fact, maybe I should take the opportunity now, while I've got it, and blow your head off? You'd be happier with that?"

Finger slowly pulling back on the trigger of the gun, Tiffany's lips warped into a sadistic grin as Sarah began to sob uncontrollably, unable to speak, unable to plead, unable to do anything as the trigger neared the point of no return, Tiffany suddenly releasing it as a flash of blue light appeared from the alleyway outside.

"What the fuck?" Tiffany stood and retracted the gun, forgetting Sarah for the time being and approaching the window of the basement, high up in the wall as she stepped up onto and old crate and peered into the rain outside. Sure enough, the intermittent flicker of blue light flashed along the alley walls once again, the driver's door of the patrol car opening as the young, oriental police officer stepped from within and took a quick look around.

"Shit!" Tiffany hissed through gritted teeth, unable to believe her luck as she spun a half circle and headed back across the crumbling basement floor. Striding straight past Sarah, secured to the couch and still weeping in blind desperation and fear, Tiffany grabbed her bag from the side of the stool and slung the strap over the shoulder of her leather jacket, returning to Sarah and dropping to her knees as she left her with one final, chilling message.

"We'll see you!" She hissed quietly, Sarah's tears slowing as she listened, Tiffany continuing. "Not now, not next year, or the year after that, but we'll see you. Believe me Sarah. You'll pay for what you did!"

Before Sarah could speak, acknowledge her in anyway at all, Tiffany stood, spinning and heading to the door as quickly as she could, heels tapping along the uneven floorboards as another door way over in a corner behind Sarah flew open and a torch light illuminated the room around her.

Was she safe?

"Police!" Officer Wan shouted into the damp, decaying darkness of the basement. For all he knew, this was a wild goose chase, the property of the late Charles Lee Ray still laying abandoned and dormant after all these years. But with Sarah Pirce missing, and nothing else to go on, Officer Wan saw little alternative than to throw all his eggs in one basket and at least give the property a search, a feeling of inflated relief washing over him as a voice replied somewhere up ahead.

"Help!" The voice pleaded, sobbing relentlessly as Officer Wan slowly stepped across the rotting floor and in the direction of the voice, a rat scurrying past with a squeak as the voice once again called for help up ahead. "Please."

"Where are you?" Wan asked, shining his flashlight in every direction, suddenly turning a corner and rounding an old wardrobe to find the woman that lay strapped to the couch, rope tightly strapped around the wrists and ankles. "Jesus."

"Thank god." Sarah breathed a tear filled sigh of relief. "I knew you'd come. You did before, and I knew you would again."

"Sarah Pirce I presume?" WAN asked, lowering his flashlight and dropping beside the nodding woman, immediately beginning to loosen her restraints. "Looks like I hot here just in time. Where is she? Where's Valentine?"

"She's gone… Just." Sarah wept, unable to hold back her emotions as she suddenly felt the ropes loosen, grabbing Wan's wrist as he stood to give chase. Freezing on the spot, Wan turned back to Sarah, awaiting an explanation as Sarah took a deep breath and spoke. "Don't leave me. Let her go."

"I can catch her." Wan insisted, reassuring Sarah, desperate for the collar. "I can end this now. It'll be over."

"No." Sarah shook her head and took a deep breath. "It'll never be over."

With a bewildered confusion, Wan looked on, lost for words as Sarah spoke one final time."

"Never."

And with that, Officer Wan dropped to his knees and remained by her side, moving only to radio in his discovery and alert the rest of Chicago Police Department.

Tiffany Valentine was on the move, but Sarah Pirce was finally safe.

The nightmare was over.

For now.

The hours had passed by without incident now. The Plymouth parked on the outskirts of the industrial estate as, under cover of night, Tiffany sneaked along the chain link fence and remained vigilant. The last time she had been here the security had been a lot less forgiving. Search lights had swept across the perimeter. Constant patrols too as the security teams worked in pairs. Every noise investigated as the hulking grey building situated beyond the heavily fortified fence sat in the darkness, the only light coming from the spotlights strategically placed and illuminating the surrounding area. Now, it had become very different. The security effort was lapse, a skeleton crew Tiffany noticed as the patrols seemed to have become less consistent, the pair of mercenaries now reduced to a solitary security officer as Tiffany remained in the shadows and waited patiently for her moment. Like a coiled spring, ready to take the opportunity, darting across the empty land and towards the chain link fence as she found the coast to be clear. Maintenance seemed to have taken a backseat too, she noticed. The fence still in need of repair as Tiffany dug her fingers beneath the bottom corner of the flimsy mesh and peeled the panel of fencing back from the ground, squeezing beneath and bolting across the empty, litter strewn parking lot, the huge, grey and rather unwelcoming building before her sitting in abject darkness. Silent as she approached, the only remnants of colour coming from a sign, now battered and weathered, sitting high above her head as the faded, freckly face of a Good Guy doll greeted her with what must have, at some point, been a welcoming smile. The current situation only serving to amplify the creepiness of the once jolly grin as the words of the sign still sat visible beneath.

'PLAY PALS'

Reaching the building and throwing herself against the wall, Tiffany allowed the shadows to swallow her whole, this particular corner of the buildings exterior completely devoid of any light whatsoever. If she remembered right, the entrance lay just up ahead, the lock on the door beyond repair and allowing easy access as Tiffany started to move, feeling her path along the corrugated metal wall of the factory and smiling as she gripped the door handle and twisted, the door opening with very little effort. Once inside, she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, the sickly smell igniting what seemed like a thousand memories as she let the cold, stagnant air envelope her, caressing her skin. The rows of conveyors sat still and decrepit. Years of neglect causing the various metal parts to rust and seize, the generous coating of cobwebs indicating the length of time to have passed since the much publicised incidents of 1990. The final, epic showdown between Chucky and Andy Barclay taking place in this very building. Each and every direction she looked wielded the same sight. Cobwebs, rust, dust, various legs, arms and heads once created with such precision, such love, yet still sitting here, never to fulfill their purpose as they sat unaffected. It was like looking through a window and back in time. To a civilisation lost, only to be discovered at a later date, letting the effects of time ravage without any resistance whatsoever. Lifting her head and looking beyond the conveyors and machinery dotted around the shop floor, Tiffany could see the tower rising high above the numerous other machinery, the vat of molten plastic sitting within now hardened and unfit for use as she turned and began to calmly stride. Moving slowly across the concrete floor of the factory, her heels clicked loudly in the silence, the echo rebounding back from the walls and across the empty void of the factory floor as she neared her target. Heart skipping, her stomach fluttered as she rounded the corner, placing her hand on the last of the conveyors as she did so, breathing a sigh of relief and picking up the pace as she raced towards the abomination sitting before her, a streak of blood stretching from the cooling tower and towards the legless body sitting upon the rollers beneath. The plastic covering the tiny body had hardened years ago, the chest of the light blue dungarees still visible and strangely unscathed as the 'Good Guys' logo sat proudly unaffected, the devastation evident to all as, out of the bloody, headless mess an arm forced its way skyward. The blood, generously covering the small body buried beneath the plastic, had turned brown over time, congealing and staining through the years as time took no prisoners. Matted in the bloody, plastic mess, little tufts of ginger hair sat exposed, a gentle breeze floating through the factory and causing them to flutter ever so slightly as the small corpse sat frozen to the spot. Reaching the final resting place of the doll, Tiffany dropped to her knees and reached out, holding the small hand and beginning to whisper ever so gently. She had never spoken with such tenderness. Such care. Such an undiluted feeling of overwhelming love.

"I'm back." She said, choking back the tears, spotlights sweeping the perimeter of the building and shining through the windows high up in the walls, the small amount of light illuminating the interior substantially.

"I'm sorry I haven't been in a while." She continued unaffected. "But you know me honey. Always something."

Stroking the extended fingers of the outstretched doll's hand Tiffany fought back the tears, eyes welling up as she composed herself, for probably the last time. Unsure whether he could hear her, or whether this was all becoming a rather futile effort.

"I did manage to take care of things I mentioned last time I came." She continued, referring to her earlier altercation, the end of her witch-hunt now nothing but a memory. Sarah Pirce located and dealt with how Tiffany saw fit. "I couldn't do it. But she knows. She knows we're coming. Just as soon as you're back on your feet."

Sighing deeply, a tear dropped from Tiffany's eye and landed upon the sleeve of her jacket, her reaction only to lift that very arm and wipe away the following floods as she felt her lip begin to tremble with emotion.

"I know you'll look forward to it Chucky. She deserves to pay for what she did to us. To you." She said, standing and relinquishing her grip on the small hand. "I don't know if you can hear this or not, but I guess it's more to make me feel less guilty or something. But I have to leave town. There's gonna be a lot of police interest, and I need to make a break for it. But I'll never stop trying though. Believe me, I'll find a way. Even if I have to go to the end of the earth and back."

Taking a step, swearing to herself that she wouldn't, Tiffany stopped and cast one final glance over her shoulder, the last she would see of what was left of her former partner in crime, the small, mangled mountain of blood, plastic and hair remaining ever still, statuesque, as Tiffany faced forward and finally stepped back between the conveyors and towards the exit.

Unbeknown to her, sat high up above the factory floor and resting atop the controls of one of the many conveyors, a lone eye, a brilliant bright blue, blinking and surrounded by shredded, bloody, molten plastic, watched on in frustrated silence as she stepped carefully back across the factory floor and reached the exit to the parking lot. Then, as the door fell closed with a quiet click, a tear began to well in the eye as a twisted, furious rage burned somewhere deep within.

'Until next time.' Thought the eye, helpless as an eerie silence fell upon the neglected factory once more.

It hadn't taken long. No sooner had Tiffany reached her car and switched on the ignition she heard the news reports. Scrambled across every station, each one jostling to break the news first, the word was out. Sarah Pirce had been found, safe and sound, hurried into protection as she now feverishly helped the police with their inquiries, the biggest news being that of a name. They finally had a name. The Phone Book Killer unmasked as the name Tiffany Valentine, along with various images, were released to the media. The police quick to place an all points bulletin and issue a warrant for her arrest, urging members of the public not to confront, but simply report any sightings, the suspect apparently capable of anything, as witnessed over the course of the last week or so. Four innocent women and two brave police officers dead, a random killing taking place at a hotel in the city centre, not to mention eleven SWAT members buried beneath the rubble of a building downtown, the rescue attempt in full flow although nobody holding their breath. Now however, with the moon high in the sky, rain lashing at the windshield, the engine of the Plymouth Fury growled, roared and kicked as Tiffany pressed the throttle to the floor and watched the tarmac disappear quickly beneath the vehicle, the headlights illuminating every crack as the car seemed to literally swallow the road, the radio playing loudly as the wipers worked furiously. Relentlessly as the downpour only seemed to intensify. This was it. Her work here was done. A different outcome than she intended, but one that she had found peace with. Something that could and would be dealt with at a later date. Whatever the immediate outcome, Sarah Pirce now knew she was on borrowed time, and whenever the time came, Tiffany looked forward to reliving the chase all over again. The cold, terrifying grip of death never far from the shoulders of the Pirce family and all who surrounded them. With a ripple of infectious laughter, Tiffany pressed the throttle pedal flat to the floor of the Plymouth and sank back in the comfy leather seat, the city streets disappearing behind her as she tore across the intersection of Van Buren and Wabash, a loud rumble of thunder echoing above as a fork of lightning bolted from the heavens and hit one of the many street lights, the street below covered in a shower of sparks as the Plymouth flew past and headed towards the city limits and an uncertain future.

Would she return?

Who knew?

So long Chicago.